


Fear and Forgiveness

by ashmeera101



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmeera101/pseuds/ashmeera101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Inquisitor Adaar tends to his plants, but memories of the events at Adamant are still fresh in his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear and Forgiveness

Karavaad was in the garden that evening, seeing as the weather was not as nipping and that his hands needed a distraction that was not Josephine’s tower of paperwork on his desk. The usual crowd of well-wishers and nobles were scattered around him, probably whispering and pointing, but he paid them no heed, instead concentrating on the satchel in front of him and its precious contents. 

He carried the fragile Felandaris seedling out of a cloth bag and set it into the indent he had just made into the soil, as gentle as he could possibly manage. He doubted it would have needed such care in its handling; the spindly stalk had survived the journey back from the Emprise without much help, but he wanted to be sure.

Patting the damp soil around the stalk, he sat back and surveyed his handiwork. Three Felandaris and a single precious Amrata Vein stood in a row, next to the flourishing stems of elfroot and blood lotus. He would be able to keep an eye on these personally, since there were no tasks outside of Skyhold in the next fortnight or so.

It may be foolish for the Inquisitor to put as much care into seed-collecting as he did, and there were many times where Dorian and Sera would whine about the time wasted as he scaled sheer rock surfaces or entered abandoned mansions just because he’d seen a rare plant to be fostered, but he’d be damned if he cared. Plants were important, not just as potion ingredients. No, they made him happy, and not many things gave him as much delight in this world anymore.

As he reached into his satchel for the bag of elfroot seeds, he suddenly felt a sliver of something cut through his chest. He paused, and the feeling grew, slow and sinister, as if an insect had taken hold and was beginning to spread its long spindly legs. The seeds in his hand scattered as they began to shake, not stopping even as he clenched them tight.

_Fear._

He was back in the Fade, just out of reach of the rift that would return him to Thedas. The great spider loomed over him and his companions, its fangs glistening with poison as it regarded them with dozens of dead eyes. He could feel Hawke shudder beside him as she drew her staff, and he mirrored her action. Stroud too had drawn his weapons, and now both of them looked to him with an expression he had begun to know all too well.

They argued over who was to distract the creature, all while he stood there, the fear bubbling in his throat. Why was it always like this? Why did they always look to him to make decisions that were so damn important to the world? How did they think that a single person could bear the weight of such choices? The maelstrom of questions tormented him even as he looked at the both of them, and it was all he could do to not scream. 

Finally, he looked to Stroud. 

The Warden clasped a hand on his shoulder, a final farewell, before he charged towards the creature, veering it towards the side so they had a clear shot at the rift. He on the other hand was frozen to the spot, watching as his silent decision ran to his death, only snapping out of it at Hawke’s yell to “move Inquisitor, before it catches sight of us!” 

Could he be forgiven for leaving a brave man to die? It seemed not, for the nightmares continued to plague him even to the day, visions of the spider with Stroud in its jaws, dripping blood from the hole in his chest, the Nightmare taunting him with its blackened words. He had tried to redeem himself – pouring over tomes that Solas had recommended, as well as finding the others his Trainer had told him about, learning as much as he could about the Fade and its workings. It was the reason he had chosen to train as a rift mage, rather than carrying on with his path as a spirit healer. The guilt burned inside of him, and this was the only way he could think of making things better. To master the very thing that made him stumble. 

“Amatus?”  
  
The bag of elfroot seeds had spilled to the ground all over the patch of newly turned earth, which made him grunt in annoyance. He turned to Dorian, whose voice had brought him back to the present and was now kneeling next to him, trying not to set his knee into the soil. He looked like he was about to say something witty, but his smile withered when he met Karavaad’s eyes. 

“Is everything alright?”  
  
Karavaad shook his head and smiled at him.  
  
“Everything’s fine, Dorian.” 

“If I had a silver for every time you’ve said that to me, I’d be able to buy you a book on botany. One of those ridiculously expensive, gold-clasped ones.” His expression softened however. “Amatus please, I know that something’s been bothering you. We’ve barely spoken since Adamant.”  
  
“I’ve told you, I’m alright. I’m dealing with things.”  
  
“If it doesn’t involve copious amounts of wine and a tearful confession, I don’t want to hear it.” Dorian brushed the stray strands of hair from Karavaad’s forehead, a rare gesture of affection he would ordinarily not allow himself. “We can retreat to your quarters, spend a quiet evening together, if you’re done with your plants.”

Karavaad gestured to the mess in front of him. “I’ve got to clean this up before the elfroot upsets the Felandaris. It might take a while.”

“See, that’s the thing. You’re incredibly careful when it comes to your plants. But this?” He looked at how Karavaad was picking up the seeds and shoving them back into the bag, using more force than he normally would. Sighing, Dorian leaned in close. “I want to help you, Amatus. It… hurts me to see you suffer in silence.”

Karavaad bit his lip and turned away. “I’m not very good at talking things through.”  
  
“Well then, we can change that.” Dorian waggled his eyebrows mischievously, which brought a smile to Karavaad’s lips. Pushing the rest of the seeds back into the bag, he let Dorian take his hand and lead him to his quarters.

Perhaps things would be alright after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short little thing I started writing a month ago. Karavaad isn't my main Inquisitor (the honour is reserved for his elder sister, Tashak, of whom I have yet to write about), but I love him more than words can say. Hope you've enjoyed reading this.


End file.
